Warnings: Drug use, true crime talk, fluff, and Clint Barton
Written for this ask from @trashpandagamer: Currently thinking about BP!Nat, BP!Reader, and BP!Alpine kicking the others off the bus for a girl’s night in
If you like it, please give it a reblog! Your friendly neighborhood smut peddler loves that shit!
Warnings: Drug use, true crime talk, fluff, and Clint Barton
Written for this ask from @trashpandagamer: Currently thinking about BP!Nat, BP!Reader, and BP!Alpine kicking the others off the bus for a girl’s night in
If you like it, please give it a reblog! Your friendly neighborhood smut peddler loves that shit!
Warnings: Drug use, true crime talk, fluff, and Clint Barton
Written for this ask from @trashpandagamer: Currently thinking about BP!Nat, BP!Reader, and BP!Alpine kicking the others off the bus for a girl’s night in
If you like it, please give it a reblog! Your friendly neighborhood smut peddler loves that shit!
Warnings: Drug use, true crime talk, fluff, and Clint Barton
Written for this ask from @trashpandagamer: Currently thinking about BP!Nat, BP!Reader, and BP!Alpine kicking the others off the bus for a girl’s night in
If you like it, please give it a reblog! Your friendly neighborhood smut peddler loves that shit!
“Puppy, I told you, it’s a girls night,” Nat says with a good deal more patience than Clint rightly deserves. She’d been trying to shoo him off the bus for the last 10 minutes. You, Nat, and Alpine were in dire need of a boy-free night. Bucky and Steve had, of course, understood completely.
Clint, on the other hand…
“I can be a girl! I’ll talk about anything you want to! You wanna talk about periods? Man, those heavy flow days, am I right? Then your boobs are all sore and shit… Cramps… Tampons… Midol an’ stuff…” He trails off, knowing this is not a battle he’s going to win.
“You and I watched ALL of the Lord of the Rings AND Hobbit movies this weekend. I want girl time.” She straightens her spine, sweeps her feet out so they’re shoulder width apart, and her voice drops an octave, “Don’t make me throw you off this bus myself, Barton.”
Clint chuckles nervously, looking around in a frenzy, “Now where’d I leave those shoes?”
It takes him a full five minutes to find his shoes where he left them last night—in the shower. You remind him of this three times while he tears up the bus looking for them.
“Kitty, my shoes are wet,” he pouts, hoping he’s being cute enough for Nat to hold off on killing him for just a second.
“Wear some of Steve’s.”
“Steve’s wearing his shoes. It’s only his boots here, and he doesn’t like it when I wear them.”
“Because you spread grape jelly all over them the last time you wore them,” you remind him. “They got ants, Clint.”
He clutches his chest and looks at you in shock, “No! Not you too, lil mama! I feel so attacked. Why does everyone want me to leave?”
“Because—for the thousandth time—it’s girl’s night, puppy.”
“Oh, yeah. But-”
Nat says through gritted teeth. “Try Bucky’s shoes-”
Clint opens up his mouth to interrupt her, but she beats him to the punch, “If Bucky left his boots too, then take Scott’s shoes.”
I hate wearing Scott’s shoes,” he whines, “his feet are a size smaller than mine.”
You snort, “Then maybe don’t shower with your shoes on!”
“Shower shoes are a real thing, you know!”
“High-top, canvas Converse All Stars aren’t shower shoes,” you remind him, just as you had last night when he walked into the bathroom wearing nothing but those shoes.
“Clinton Francis Barton I swear to god-”
“JESUS KITTY WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN? Don’t use my full name. I hate that! You’re not my mom.”
“I feel like your mom right now.” Nat pauses, “Puppy listen. Hey,” she snaps her fingers to get Clint to focus, “pay attention. I’ll tell you what. If you put Scott’s shoes on right now, and get the fuck off the bus, I will give you the last of my molly. It’s all for you, but you gotta fuck off.”
He grins at her and plops down onto the floor to throw on Scott’s shoes, “You got yourself a deal, kitty!”
Alpine winds around him, rubbing her cheeks on him, as he struggles to pull Scott’s too-small shoes onto his too-big feet. Once he’s done, he tackles Alpine and gives her loud forehead kisses until she swats at him and wriggles free. He takes eight hot-pink pills from Nat with a triumphant smile and gives her a kiss on the cheek. You get a hug and a wink.
“You guys don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he says as he tromps down the bus stairs, “and if you do—take pictures.” He winks and cackles as he just barely dodges the foot Nat aims at his head.
Nat shuts the door with a heavy sigh. “Finally, it’s just us ladies,” Alpine headbutts her shin with a cheerful muurp, “isn’t that right, floof?”
You get Bucky’s laptop while Nat throws some popcorn into the microwave. “What should we watch, red?” you ask.
“There’s that Ted Bundy thing? Or, we can watch Saw again? Maybe something with lots of explosions?”
You mull it over for a minute, “I think I’m in the mood for the serial-killer biopic.” She nods in agreement.
Alpine hops up on your lap while you load the movie, making biscuits on your bare legs and head-butting your arm everytime it comes close enough to her face while she waits for you.
Nat comes back with the popcorn, and scoops Alpine up in her arms, “Watch it, furball, this lap is mine,” she gives Alpine a smooch on her forehead and spoons the purring kitty against her front, and plops her head down in your lap.
She sighs immediately, “You have the nicest lap, peach. Barton’s legs are too bony, and he doesn’t play with my hair right,” she complains, practically purring herself as your fingers card through her bright red hair to skritch her scalp. “Oh yeah,” she groans, “that’s the shit.”
Halfway through the movie you switch places, your head in Nat’s lap, with Alpine snoozing against your chest, purring softly. She rhythmically slips her fingers through your hair with one hand, and eats popcorn with the other.
Once the movie ends you get into a very involved discussion about who on the bus would be the easiest to lure into a vehicle to murder.
You both immediately discard Steve and Bucky as likely targets for a serial killer to pursue.
“I think Clint would be the first one to follow someone to a second location,” Nat muses. “Offer him drugs, candy, or sex, and you can pretty much get him to do anything, or go anywhere you want him to. Buuuuut,” she hedges, “even drugged—my money’s on Clint. He’s pretty fucking hard to kill. He disabled an attacker with a fucking shoelace once. And it wasn’t even his shoelace! I wouldn’t want to be the one trying to slip a knife between his ribs, that’s for goddamn sure.”
You nod slowly, “Clint would definitely be easy to lure, but I think Scott is the one most likely to be murdered.”
“Okay,” Nat nods, gnawing on the end of a Red Vine, “make your case.”
“Well Clint is easy to lure, sure, but he’s VERY hard to kill. I agree, that boy is scrappy as fuck, and I don’t think a serial killer would be prepared for that. But Scott is usually only inside the bus when he’s sleeping. So he’s outside more than any of us. And when he’s in the equipment trailer, working on the bus, or walking around, he always wears those big noise-cancelling headphones. If he’s not tinkering, he’s on the phone.”
“So there’s opportunity,” Nat nods thoughtfully.
“Exactly! And Scott is pretty scrawny, so it’d be easy to grab him, toss him in a trunk, and hightail it out of there. He’d also be easy to lure with food, drugs, or sex. And he’d be easy to kill too. He’s charismatic, and can talk his way out of some shit, and he knows his way around a fist fight, but I doubt he’d be able to defend himself against someone who was actively trying to murder him.”
“Right, cause he has no training.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“But you don’t have any hand-to-hand training either…” Nat trails off with a grimace, poking you in the shoulder.
“No, but I’d never follow anyone to a car, and I’m almost always with you, Steve, Bucky, or Clint when I go out, and we’ve already established that you guys are hard to murder. So…”
“You feel pretty safe,” Nat finishes for you.
“Relatively speaking, yeah.”
Nat starts digging around the RV for a piece of paper and a marker. “I know who would be the most entertaining person to watch someone attempt to murder.”
You both say Bucky at the same time, then burst out laughing.
“Yeah. It would be suicidal to try to kidnap someone that huge in the first place,” you snort, “You put a needle in his neck, and he may go down, but he won’t stay asleep long-”
“No shit. He’d for sure make a show out of being asleep though. Play along for awhile, then he’d just-” Nat makes a choking noise, and mimes snapping someone’s neck, while you chuckle at the imagery.
You both crawl into Nat’s bunk and lie beside each other eating pixie sticks and talking about anything and everything you can think of. By the time she runs out of pixie sticks your legs are tangled together and you’re both laughing so hard your abs hurt.
She extricates herself to crawl down to Clint’s bunk, and she comes back with two hot-pink pills clenched in her palm.
You laugh when she shows them to you, “I thought you gave Clint all your x?”
“So did he,” she giggles, “I always stash a few pills in his bunk. He has never once found them.”
You open your mouth so she can pop the pill onto your tongue, and Alpine swats at your chin until you give her more treats. You start digging around in Nat’s bunk until you find her tin of nail polish, and insist on painting each other’s nails.
Nat picks out a color for you—it’s a deep, rich red the color of her favorite lipstick. “This is my favorite polish, and it’s also the most expensive,” she explains, showing you the scrawled Louboutin signature on the front of the box, “so don’t you go letting those two boys of yours mess it up.”
For Nat, you pick a super glossy black, that goes on so smooth it looks like patent leather. Then she puts some drops on your nails, and ten minutes later they’re completely dry. “Sorceress,” you whisper, tapping the sleek red enamel in disbelief.
A scant four hours after Nat threatened Clint off the bus, just outside you hear, “Nah, I don’t think you need a ladder!” and “Go for it spider monkey!”
Then the trailer sways gently as someone slams into the side of it. There’s a clatter, a chaotic shuffling sound, then a thud, and Clint shouting, “MOTHER FUCKER!” followed by loud laughter from Bucky and Steve.
“NO! I CAN DO IT! I’M GOING AGAIN, DICKHEADS!”
“Come on, it’s not that hard,” Bucky’s muffled voice asserts, “watch!”
Then the whole bus cants heavily to one side as twin thumps sound on either side of the door. Bucky and Steve grunt, then there’s the sound of their rubber-soled Converse shuffling around on top of the RV.
Nat bangs on the roof and shouts, “CLINT DOESN’T HAVE SUPERPOWERS, IDIOTS. SO BE NICE.”
There’s a pair of muffled awwww’s and the thump of four-hundred-some-odd pounds of super soldier hitting the pavement all at once.
The door bangs open, and the three of them file onto the bus with Steve in the lead, a joint hanging out of the corner of his mouth. He saunters over to the bunk you and Nat are tucked into, and Nat makes grabby hands at the weed. He asks, “Did my girls have fun?”, then passes the joint to Nat, and pulls you in for a kiss, shotgunning his lungful of smoke into your mouth. Alpine headbutts his arm until he scratches her chin..
Clint shoves him aside, “Move, I need my girls.” He clambers up into the bunk and lays on top of you and Nat with a groan. He mumbles into Nat’s cleavage, “Guys, I fell. I think I broke my ass.” Then he rolls over so his head is pillowed on your tits, and addresses you, “Your boyfriends are mean! I even gave them most of my molly. It took three tabs each to get those cocksuckers high.”
“So?” Steve snorts, “Whaddya want, a blow job?”
Clint hums, “I could use a blow job.” He blows Steve a kiss.
“Not even with Bucky’s mouth. Besides, you couldn’t handle this roller coaster.”
“I don’t have to put up with this. I’m taking my hearing aids out,“ he pouts, making no move to actually remove his hearing aids.
Nat passes the joint to you, but Clint intercepts it. He takes a deep drag, but won’t give it to you, so you grab his wrist and bring his hand to your mouth so you can take a hit while it’s still pinched between his fingers.
“Not fair lil mama! It’s my weed.”
“Yeah, but it was my turn.”
“No one loves me.”
You wrap your arms around him from behind, “I love you, honey, but it was still my turn.”
“Devil woman,” he mumbles under his breath.
Bucky’s face appears in the opening of the bunk, and he grins at you, and loudly kisses your forehead. “You’re not the devil. You’re an angel. How’re my girls doin—HEYYYY do I smell pixie sticks?!?”
You giggle, “I want some of what you’re on.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t have any, because your boyfriends took it all,” Clint remarks sourly.
“Besides,” Nat stage whispers to you, “you already had some.”
“Damnit, you said you gave me the last of it!” Clint grumbles, rolling back over into Nat’s chest, “I’m gonna figure out where you’re hiding it, kitty. Mark my words.”
Nat scratches her fingertips over his scalp, “I know you will, puppy. Any day now.”
“Hey guys,” Scott calls, coming up the steps, “what goes on?” He aims a grin at Nat’s bunk, “There’s my girls!”
“HI SCOTTIE,” you shout, in chorus with Clint and Nat.
“Hi babies,” he blows a kiss in the general direction of your little pile of bodies.
“Hey man,” Steve rumbles from the couch.
“‘Sup, sucker,” Scott wiggles his fingers at Steve.
Bucky tips his chin at Scott.
“Hey swallower,” Scott grunts, returning the gesture.
“Eat your heart out, bitch,” Bucky fires back, flopping down on the couch and laying his head in Steve’s lap.
Scott arrives at his Captain’s chair, and scratches the back of his head. “So, ahhm… What the actual fuck is this?” He slowly spins the chair to expose the note Nat taped there earlier-
MOST LIKELY TO BE MURDERED.
“I’ll have you degenerates know, I am not the most likely to be murdered.” He points at you, “She is. Come on, look how goddamn adorable she is.”
Clint clears his throat, “Raise your hand if you think Scott is the person on this bus who is most likely to be murdered.”
Everyone’s hand shoots up in unison, except for Scott’s.
He looks aghast at everyone, “You ungrateful cum-stains. See if I find anymore strippers for you perverts,” he points at Clint and Nat, “or drugs for you assholes,” he points to Bucky and Steve. "And you…” he shakes his finger at you. “Oh, who am I kidding? You get a pass. I’d walk through broken glass for you, dovey.”
You smile broadly at everyone while they groan good-natured insults at you.
Before Scott falls asleep the next morning, he rolls the sign into a cone shape, and wears it over a few of his mohawk spikes like a dunce cap.
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